


Cleave a Soul Pure

by lehulei



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, CS Secret Shipmates, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehulei/pseuds/lehulei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  A night of terror and death sees the unusual beginnings of Emma and Killian. A witch in need of more power, a pirate in need of revenge, a man who will go to any length to save his wife will shape the lives of two souls intertwined by magic, love, and sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [headoverhook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/headoverhook/gifts).



> **I didn't mean to start another WIP. But with the Great OUAT Winter Hiatus of 2013-2014 coming to an end today, there was an exchange on tumblr that I signed up for and[shulesaddict77](http://shulesaddict77.tumblr.com) asked for angst and smut. My muse took that and ran with it. I only meant to do a one-shot, but then characters barged in and took over my plot as they are wont to do at times. This should only be about five chapters. Here's my gift to my new friend and I hope she enjoys it, just as I hope anyone who reads this does. (I feel like I was crazy writing this, so reassurances in the negative would be appreciated.) Storyline inspired by the book _Remembrance_ by Jude Deveraux.**

_  
Born of darkness_

_Born of light_

_The two are twined_

_In fate—Undivided_

::

The story starts as most do: on a dark and stormy night. The servants have swarmed the large manor, shutting tight the windows, barring against rain and wind and the thunder from above and the crashing waves from below the cliff upon which the house stands. It's a night of danger, of death, and no one takes it as a good sign that the lady of this land has gone into labor.

There are whispers, well away from the lord of the manor who walks the corridor outside his lady wife's rooms, awaiting the birth of what he hopes to be his long awaited son. He can feel time's hands curling around his heart. His wife has been in labor for more than a day now. He doesn't know what this means for her. For their child.

The thunder covers her cries. He's already been removed from her rooms twice by the good doctor and was sternly told that he was more detrimental to her than help at this point. His fists clench. He wants a son, but not at the expense of her life.

A loud banging echoes through the halls, loud enough to bring David's head up. His butler comes into view, eyes wide. "There's a man in the hall, with a girl. A very pregnant girl. He says she's in labor and is asking for help."

For one moment, he wanted to reject these people, to not get caught up in others' problems when he had one that threatened his own existence just on the other side of the door. But Snow wouldn't do that, and really, he wouldn't either.

"Bring them in."

::

The girl is barely of age while the man who brought her is far older, rough-looking, smelling of the sea, and manners that spoke of authority honed on the savage side of life. His grin is manic and his eyes—dark and avaricious. David would rather have taken his words back, but for the cry of pain from the girl in the man's arms.

There was nothing to it but to have the two women in the same room, the doctor's attention divided between the both of them. The worn face had turned to David upon entrance, taking in the younger girl and his still-laboring lady and reluctantly worded a request he'd been hoping to avoid.

"We're going to need Cora."

::

Snow is almost senseless. She'd heard stories about the trial of labor, thinking that perhaps the local women and her mother had been making it up. However, the reality seemed to pale in comparison. She'd been in between a waking and sleeping state when she startles.

Another woman's voice has joined her own. She turns her head and sees her, a girl really, also in labor. Her face is white, not like Snow's naturally is, but more from the pain etched across her features. Her hair is as dark as Snow's, matted and wet from the rain Snow can hear pounding on the roof. A streak of lightning combines with the keening sound from the girl's mouth.

"Snow," her husband's voice cuts through the sound and her attention turns to him on her right. "They asked for help, I'm sorry, I wouldn't have had them here otherwise, but for the storm—"

She cuts him off with a tired hand across his lips. His eyes are worried, for her, for their child. She knows he wishes he could take some of the pain and for this she manages a smile. "It's alright."

A noise from the door takes his attention away from her. She sees his lips form the name "Cora" before another ripple tenses her body and her teeth clench around her scream.

::

Though regarded as a witch, Cora is respected as a healer in the old arts, before these more modern medicinal practices began to creep into the land, relegating the power of healing and the spiritual plane only to men. She knows that the situation is dire, for the doctor to request her presence. And she sees that this is so upon entering the room, taking in at a glance the two women on the large bed, side by side, so different in status yet brought to the same level by their biological needs.

The two men, husband and lover, stand on opposite sides – one fair and kingly, the other dark and common. Lord David's eyes are only on his wife, while the other's barely focus on the girl in the bed, his gaze instead taking in the rich bed draping and curtains, the gleaming candelabra and frames.

Cora claps her hands, startling all present in the room to silence. "Regina," she calls for her daughter who is holding her satchel, "place the candles before each window and light them." Her daughter moves forward to obey. The woman is just a little older than the lady on the bed.

"What is this? I won't have witchcraft conducted around her!" The outburst comes from the other man, a man who'd only given the name John.

Lord David cuts him off with a look. "Do you want your child to be born or not?"

The man doesn't look like he's used to being countermanded, but he also doesn't look like a simpleton, understanding that he's not the one with power here. His mouth sets into a tight line and he gives a short nod.

Cora watches, barely able to keep her amusement in at his superstition. She can feel that something is happening within this room. That this man and this girl came on this night to this house is not a coincidence. There is power, not just in the wealth of Lord David, but in what is about to take place. Her fingers curl in anticipation.

::

Regina has followed all her mother's instructions. While Cora has attempted to teach Regina the arts, she has refused to follow in her footsteps. Her mother may do good in the healing she does, but it seems there's always a price, and Regina hasn't yet found it in herself to pay it.

The night has grown longer, the storm has raged stronger, and yet these women have yet to give birth.

She stands to the side, near one of the windows and watches her mother place her hands on the women in turn. Each time she does so, the woman seems to calm, whether it is the one of noble blood or the unknown. The words she whispers are unheard by her daughter and, she suspects, by even the men who hover at her shoulder.

Cora moves to stand at the end of the bed and a sharp gesture brings the doctor back to her side and everyone else's attention back to her.

"It's time."

Three things happen at once.

Lightning rips across the sky, so close that it lights all within in startling clarity.

The women scream, their voices intertwining in a plea to the heavens, a note that the ear cannot stand but which the heart hears.

The doctor and the witch bend at the feet of each woman, hands reaching out to guide the babes into the world.

Cora is undisturbed by any of this as she pulls the child from the unknown girl, her name not given up by John. The babe gives a healthy wail that brings an unintended smile to Regina. "A son," Cora announces, turning to the doctor on her left, hands going through the routine motions of cleaning and dressing the child.

There is only silence from Lady Snow's side of the bed. Regina's throat tight, she looks to the doctor, holding the lady's silent babe in his hands, a look of despair on his face as he meets Cora's impassive gaze.

"What—what's happening?" Lady Snow asks from her position. She claps a hand on her husband's arm. "David! Why can't I hear our baby?" She struggles to get up while her husband gaze takes in the child.

Cora holds her hand out to the doctor who gives the baby over to her. Holding the two newborns in each arm, the boy having fallen strangely silent, Cora whispers over them. John seems transfixed where he is at the other end while Lord David and Lady Snow clutch each other, desperate hope etched on their faces.

No one notices the dark-haired girl, still lying prone on the bed, until she reaches out and grabs Lady Snow's hand. Startled, the lady turns to her. Regina can see that the girl's grip is firm as she pulls the woman to her. Her voice, the only time she's spoken since coming to the manor, carries in the silence, the rain itself seeming to have abated for this moment in time.

"My life for hers. His life is hers. My boy…is yours."

Having used the last of her strength, the girl falls back against the bed, dark hair fanned out beneath her, eyes closed in death.

John shakes her. "What did you just say? What—"

He's thrown back by Lord David who's reached across the bed. "Cease this! She's gone. This young girl died bringing your son into the world and now—"

Lord David is interrupted by a new cry, one that they hadn't heard before. All heads turn to Cora, a dim yellow glow fading from sight, as the stillborn baby was now turning a healthy pink before their eyes, her mouth open in a lusty wail. The boy's cries soon joined hers.

No one except Regina saw the magic performed by her mother, the strength the girl had given for Lady Snow's daughter being the price that had been paid. Regina stood in shock and in wondering at the sacrifice. She had died so these two babies could live.

While the yellow glow had dimmed for all else present, Regina can still the delicate threads winding between the two babes, binding them in intangible ways.

::

Cora turns to the two nobles. "You have a daughter." Snow's hand comes up to cover her mouth as tears fall freely while her husband holds out his arms for his daughter. When the girl is removed from Cora's embrace, the boy lets out a loud cry, his arms and legs kicking out in protest. Even the old witch is surprised, barely managing to keep ahold of him.

A throat clears. "Give 'im here," says that rough man, arms held out awkwardly.

Cora gives him a scathing look before turning to Lord David. "No. It seems that the children will have to be together for now," she states as she hands the squirming babe to David where he immediately quiets, large eyes blinking across to the girl. The lord stares down at the children in his arms, before carefully laying them in Snow's arms.

She gazes at the two babes, noting the dark hair of the boy and the fairer tufts of the girl. Her eyes wander to the still girl beside her, not knowing what to say, not believing she would even be heard, but just knowing she is thankful for this, for the life of her child.

"Emma," she whispers to the sleeping girl. David's hand comes into view, to stroke the soft head of their child.

"Thank you, milord. I'll be taking my boy now." The gravelly voice cuts through the moment of peace in this night of birth and destruction. The two look up from their awed contemplation of the children to find John on their side of the bed now, eyes expectant on the boy in her arms. Snow's mouth opens to protest, but David's voice overrides hers.

"I don't think that will be possible, John. He's just come into this world, he has no mother to take care of him, and it seems that your son and my daughter cannot be separated for the moment."

The man blusters and David straightens to a more regal pose as Cora's low but clear voice cuts in. "Those children must stay together. The sacrifice your girl made, what she made possible for this girl-child to live, has bound the two inextricably. I know not what may happen, but I do know that for their lives to begin and grow, they must remain so."

John looks as if he wants to come back at her, but he's a man who apparently knows how to pick his battles. He glares hard at the healer, who stands unflinching, before nodding. David signals a servant and asks him to set up a room for their unexpected guest.

As the seaman leaves, the doctor moves in to care for the girl's body, carefully moving her with a sheet and a help of another servant.

The room is finally clear of all but the newborns, the lord and lady, Cora and her own daughter.

Cora gives a slight genuflect to the two nobles before speaking. "Milady, milord, it would be best if Lady Snow would rest now, her strength needs to be recovered. I will take the children to their nursery and make sure that they are settled in."

Somehow, Cora manages to give what amounts as an order without offending those of higher rank. Snow nods and hands the children over. Cora's arms hold each carefully and she exits the room, leaving the husband to care for the wife, Regina following quietly behind.

::

It isn't until she's watching Cora lay the two in the large crib meant for one, does Regina understand what her mother means to do.

Cora's face, lined yet still striking, has a look that Regina knows and that she fears. This is why she will not follow her mother into the arts, despite her innate aptitude. The look is one of hunger. And it's directed at the sleeping babes, who even in sleep are turned towards the other.

She senses just as her mother must the power that courses between the children, that thread having dimmed in the reality of those who have no predilection towards magic, but having grown stronger for those who do. For someone who could harness that power, well, that was enough to tempt even the ones who didn't understand it.

Cora could understand, and would _know_ how to use it. One hand sweeps over the babies, fingertips barely skimming first the boy's dark hair and then the girl's, Emma's, lighter ones. The golden threads move toward and away from Cora's hand, as if they're shifting in a slight breeze. She's testing it, this unknown magic.

Regina sees what will happen. Cora will wait until the rest of the manor is asleep and then she will slip into this room and steal the babies from the people who will love and care for them, not treat them as a stepping stone to a better life. She knows her mother, she knows that she has never wanted to be relegated to the country life.

She can't have that happen. So when Cora turns away from the children, Regina schools her features to block out her fear and her concern and nods to whatever she says, following her mother out of the room, but making a silent promise to those small newborns that she will be back and she will save them.

::

As beginnings go, this may seem long. However, before this story can move on to tell the life of Emma and the boy, yet unnamed, a moment must be taken to describe how they were saved from a witch by a woman determined not to become like her.

Regina makes it to the nursery before her mother and hides the babes in a basket lined with blankets. The children wake only for a moment, but seem to sense that they are in good hands as they remain quiet. Regina feels that she should think this strange, but given what she has already witnessed that night, there is no comparison.

In all honesty, Regina doesn't know where she will take them. She won't be able to stay with them, because her mother will not stop until she finds Regina, if only to punish her, nor stop trying to find the children, not with the power they would give her. She will need to find a way to deter her mother.

With a silent plea that someone will find this before it causes too much damage, Regina sets fire to the nursery, and slips out into the dark.

She doesn't see when the whole house awakens and rushes to the nursery. She's not there for the frantic attempts at putting out the fire that had burned through the room and into the next one. She's not witness to the despair on Lord David's face or the hidden rage on her mother's. She doesn't hear the heartbreak in Lady Snow's cries as she collapses at the news. She misses when John blames the nobles for losing him his son, throws a punch at David, and is subsequently escorted off the estate, vowing revenge.

No, she is entirely focused on getting them as far away as she can go, where they will be able to live their lives as their own, not as pawns. Is it fate that just a day on the road, when even these children's good humor seems to fade and she fears she's made the biggest mistake, that she runs into a kind woman, widowed and childless, who takes one look at the dark-haired young woman and the babes in her basket and makes room in her cart for them all? Is it destiny that when Regina haltingly tells her she cannot go with them for their own protection, that after a long measured look, the woman agrees to take the two as her own? One cannot say, for fate and destiny are spoken of often, but without ever truly knowing.

Regina stands on the road, looking after the cart, the two children and their new caretaker whispering words of protection she's learned from her mother's books and some that she makes up for herself until they disappear around the bend. She turns in a helpless circle before deciding to head west, hoping to make it on her own before her mother finds her. If she meets a man once noble, now turned outlaw—well, that's getting into a different tale.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl and the boy find a home and grow up.

The widow Ruth brings the two babies home with her, to a secluded cottage in the forest. Since her husband passed some years ago, she's lived alone, taking care of the few animals that provide sustenance for her with infrequent trips to the nearest village for the rest of her necessities. With the milk from her goats and the instinct of a mother, she cares for these lost children as her own.

She names the boy Killian, a cherished name in her family. The young woman had told her the girl had been called Emma. She hadn't wanted to give her own name – for the protection of the children, she'd said.

Ruth, though not often amongst people, is observant, made wise from her life experiences and time in the old forest. She could see that all three of them did not have family resemblance. She could sense the fear and the fierce protectiveness the girl had for these two. Besides asking that she take the children on, the raven-haired woman tells her that the babes cannot be separated, that a bond exists between the two that seems difficult to sunder. Ruth, having been familiar with the old ways, respects this direction. She doesn't know why they are in the care of this girl, but she understands that this was probably the only path for them.

And so the children find a home. They may never know their origins, they may be found by Cora, but for the tender years of their life, they have a place where they are loved and nourished and can grow into themselves.

::

"Killian! Killian!" The girl sounds hysterical, barely waiting for Mama Ruth to stop the cart before jumping over the wooden side. She ignores the elder woman's admonishment as she runs past their cottage and into the trees surrounding. She's crashing through branches and unheeding of the way her long blonde hair gets caught in the brambles she passes. Her panic only abates when she senses that he's nearby. Turning, she catches sight of a pale arm behind a tree and runs toward him.

"Killian, I'm sorry! I'm sorry," she says, her voice pleading as she kneels beside him, taking him in her arms. He remains stiff for a moment before bending towards her. Her fingers run a comforting motion through his black hair and he finally returns her hug, breathing in her familiar scent. His shaking ceases. The only thing in the world for the both of them right now is each other.

Ruth stops at the edge of the trees, hands wringing in concern though she knows that she needn't worry. As long as the two were together, they would be safe. She had done what she thought would be best for them today. She sees now that she was wrong.

As the young woman had told her more than a decade ago, the two have a bond that existed outside her ken. Ruth has watched her children (for all that they were not born of her body, she loves them as such) grow. She has seen the way the two rely on each other, how in tune they seem. When one is happy, the other is happy. When one is sad, the other is sad until they manage to bring a smile to the other's face. She has worried about this dependency.

Normally on market days, Ruth brought both Killian and Emma with her. However, with this growing concern she'd had, she'd assigned Killian to looking after the goats in the meadow before bringing Emma along with her. They had protested, but Ruth had sternly overridden them. Not used to her being so with them, they'd relented.

For a very short time while Ruth had strolled the stalls with Emma, the girl had been distracted enough by the cloths to touch and the fruit to smell, her green eyes taking in the musician on one corner with his lute. But shortly after lunch, Emma had grown quieter and less focused on what was happening around her, until she'd grabbed onto Ruth's arm and begged her to take her back to the cottage. Unable to ignore the desperation in her surrogate daughter's voice, Ruth had agreed. The girl had spent most of the trip beside Ruth on the bench, body bent forward as if she could will herself to Killian.

Ruth doesn't know how Emma knew where Killian was, but she knows that the two have a way of communicating without words. She feels bad at the distress she'd caused in their lives and hopes that they can forgive her. She'd only thought it practical to at least see what could happen. She worries that one day they will be separated and not know how to handle it. She doesn't want them to be unprepared.

With a heavy heart, she turns to start preparing dinner. They will come home when they are ready.

Hours later, they appear in the doorway, hand in hand. Killian has started to shoot up in height, already half a head taller than Emma and growing. His black hair is ruffled, deep blue eyes somewhat dim, jaw set in that stubborn way Ruth has come to know. Emma's elfin face has a similar cast to it. She knows that they have come to tell her something about what she tried to do, and though she is the adult, the only mother they have known, she can't deny the otherworldliness that they seem to have, a sense of never belonging with her. So she sets herself to listen.

Emma glances up at Killian, seeming to ask something. His face softens a little as he nods and she steps away from him to meet Ruth in a tight hug. Ruth cannot help the tears that appear in her eyes, fearing that they may have decided to leave her. Though she has never told them, nor have they brought it up, they are aware that she is not truly their mother and that they are not brother and sister.

"Mama Ruth, we don't want you to worry." Emma's voice is muffled by Ruth's shoulder. She pulls back to meet warm brown eyes. "We know that you were just trying to help us. It may do us good later, but right now, we don't see a need."

Killian's come to where Ruth is sitting near the table, the warm glow of the fire next to him highlighting the planes of his face that are slowly revealing themselves. He places a hand on her shoulder and one on Emma's, making a circle of the three of them. "We'll practice it, but it just hurts if it's too long," he adds.

Ruth sniffles and pulls her boy into her embrace. "That's fine, sweethearts. I'll not force it on you again."

::

Spring brings with it the sense of new beginnings and a time of change. The bareness of the trees bear leaves and flowers, the tilled ground brings forth vegetation, the traveling caravans arrive laden with colorful cloths and exotic wares.

For Killian, it's his favorite time of the year where he can spend his days outdoors, exploring the woodland, and learning to hunt with the village boys. While he won't ever say it aloud, it's also his favorite because the sun seems softer with the greenery growing in, catching on Emma's hair and making her glow. He's not sure if it's because she herself is so happy to be out in the sun or what, but he just likes seeing her like that – ethereal.

She glances up from the bolt of red silk she's got in her hands, mainly just to feel it more than really having an intention to buy it. There wasn't much use for silk in the country existence they lived. Her green eyes are sparkling and she's got that half-smile that sets his heart pounding.

He'd watched as over the winter her body had changed. She'd grown curves where there had been none. She had grown into the long limbs and her walk had become a graceful sway that transfixed him at the oddest times.

Emma had a constant all his life. While Mama Ruth doesn't know where they're from and won't talk about how they came to be with her, he knows that Emma has always been there. She's his playmate, his best friend, his closest confidante.

But the thoughts that come to him now, the feelings he has about her, the way she looks— _everything_ —have only recently started. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he'll wake from a dream of hot skin and warm mouths, his blood pounding and his skin feeling too tight. He'll look at her on the pallet next to his and take his hard length in hand, bringing himself to satisfaction while staring at her sleeping face. He wants to talk about it but is confused and doesn't want to offend her, so doesn't say anything.

He frowns as another village boy approaches Emma, a swagger in his step as he tosses his brown curls back. Neal: a boy familiar with his effect on girls. Emma turns to him, a polite smile on her face as she answers whatever question he brings up to her.

Killian's hands clench and he stalks over to where the two are, not liking at all how the other boy is leaning towards Emma. Though they are both of sixteen years, Emma's petite frame seems to have stopped growing at Killian's chin. Whereas she's gained curves, Killian has gained strength and muscle. He uses this to his advantage when he tugs on Emma's elbow, bringing her behind him as he comes to a stop in front of the older, but slightly shorter boy.

"Wha—" Emma's exclamation is cut off by the village boy's laughter.

"I was just having a bit of fun with Emma, Killian! I know she's yours." One of Neal's hands, which had been up in the gesture of surrender, came down to clap him on the shoulder. Killian felt his initial anger simmer into annoyance as he shrugged Neal's hand off. Though the mention of Emma being his did bring a pleased expression to his face.

He realizes that Emma is storming away from him and turns to follow her. She makes it to a small copse of trees before he finally catches her. His hand on Emma's arm is enough to have her turning on him, anger clear on her face. He's bewildered by this.

"I'm not _yours_ ," she shouts. "I'm my own person! I don't belong to you or to Mama Ruth or to _anyone!_ " Her small hands are in fists and his own have come up in front of him, either to hold her off or protect himself, he isn't sure. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparking.

"I know that," he states, because it's true and also because he thinks this will help calm her. It does and her fists loosen, her breathing still hard, remnants of her initial anger. "You know Neal, saying foolish things often." He laughs.

He can see a smile growing on her face. He steps closer to her, her eyes widening as he backs her up next to a tree, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. "It's really more that I am yours, you know," he whispers, seeing the darkening of her eyes and feels that maybe she's been having similar thoughts to those that have haunted him in the night.

"Killian," she whispers, uncertainty in her gaze.

He's not so sure of himself either. He just knows that being this close to her, while familiar, is also not. He's used to the comfort of her presence, the assurance that she'll always be there. The heat between their bodies, the need to touch bare skin with his hands and mouth, this is different. Emma will probably do anything he asks, but, just as she'd just told him, she is her own person, and she means too much to him for him to treat her like he's seen Neal and the other boys do to local girls. He can see that the uncertainty in her green eyes isn't just about him, but about herself and he curses himself for each time he's teased her about the lankiness of her arms and legs and the straightness of her chest.

He pulls her closer into his arms, her soft body against the hardness of his. Again, familiar, but this time different. She gasps as the contact and he captures her mouth with his own, lips gliding in an unfamiliar motion until something just fits about them, the sweet taste of Emma more than he'd imagined. Her breaths are short and he wants to catch each one. He wants more and as she opens her mouth at the delicate asking of his tongue he groans. He can't get enough of her, his hands running down her back and clutching the shapely curve of her behind. Her arms wind up into his black hair and he's pushing her against the tree, wanting to feel her.

It's awkward and new, but it's also right and feels so good. His hands wander to her front, to hold her small but soft breasts through her dress and she moans against his mouth. He can feel her nipples hard with his thumbs and he wants to see what they feel like without her dress—

The jarring sound of horses' hooves and men's laughter cut through the pleasant haze of his thoughts and he separates from Emma, remembering where they are and how this probably wasn't the best place to explore this promising area. She doesn't seem to be aware of the sounds, her arms tightening around his neck. "Emma, love," he speaks, keeping his voice low as he peeks around the tree, finding horses and soldiers in view. "We've got company."

::

Emma wants to stamp her feet as she sees the horses and men in their armor, just around the copse of trees that she and Killian are barely hidden in. She'd just gotten a taste of what she'd been dreaming of for _months_ now and she was being interrupted by swords and animals. She may be being a little blinded by thwarted desire, but she doesn't care. He doesn't seem to notice her frustration as he moves toward the small group that's gathered.

One man in particular stands out with his great fur-collared cape, a deep red, denoting noble bearing. His posture is different than that of the local villagers, men who'd spent their entire lives bent over their grains or their anvil and hammer. No, this man had the stature of someone who'd held authority all his life and had been bred to maintaining that. His light hair had flecks of silver, his eyes and set of his jaw of a more serious mood than that of his guards.

The soldiers greet Killian's curiosity with friendliness, slapping him on the shoulder when he politely introduces himself. Soon, they're letting him approach their horses cautiously, giving him tips on making friends. He looks back at where Emma is, a happy smile on his face, more boyish than the other smile he'd given her before he kissed her.

She can't help her own answering smile, nor her eye roll as she steps out of the trees to follow Killian, having known that he wanted to make sure it was safe before she showed herself.

Because her eyes are on Killian as she walks back out into the sun, the late afternoon's rays catching the edges of her blonde braids, she doesn't see the noble freeze when he sees her.

::

The village Lord David and his men stop at isn't one that they've been to in the several years they've spent looking for his lost daughter. He can't recall why they've never made this one a part of their circuit. The distance isn't too great, nor are there roads that are unsafe to travel. He makes a note to himself to ask Regina about it when he gets back to the manor, another fruitless search.

He sighs as he dismounts from his steed. He's tried not to let the hopelessness of never finding a trace of Emma get to him. But it's hard, especially when he's not by Snow where he has to at least pretend to be optimistic, if only to keep his wife going on in life. Snow, in the past sixteen years, since the night of the fire, has wasted away into just a ghost of the woman he'd married.

Even with the arrival of Regina a few years ago, with the news that their daughter still lived, probably just extended her will to live, rather than her want to die that he'd suspected she was harboring.

When Regina came back to the manor, he'd welcomed her with anger as she and her witch-mother Cora had disappeared the same night as the death of his child and the other boy born of the unnamed girl. It'd only been the vouching by the newly reinstated Lord Robin that had stayed David's hand (that and the arrow notched at his face). He'd listened to Regina's tale of learning of her mother's treacherous plan and her way of protecting Emma and the baby boy. He'd let his instinct lead him, sensing that she was speaking the truth. Regina had been different from her mother, in the times that he'd met her prior to that godforsaken night, and she seemed to still be. She'd said that she'd had a long journey and had confronted her mother, with the help of Robin. Her face had become shadowed at this and David understood that she'd had to kill her. There was probably more than what she was saying, but David chose to let the small seed of hope take root in his heart and accepted what she'd said.

Eventually David had let Regina speak to Snow, which had brought some animation to his wife's face, something which had been missing for over a decade. Since then, David had made it his mission to scour the lands. He'd been led on many a merry chase, following the hint of a blonde girl here and a girl with royal bearing there, but none of them had revealed themselves as his lost daughter. Regina had said that there might be some magic protecting Emma, especially if the boy was with her. He remembered that night they were born, there was some otherworldly magic at work.

And so his search continued and had led him here. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a village boy approach his men who indulge the young man's curiosity, treating him with the courtesy and conduct that David expects of anyone in his service. His eyes wander over the market that seems to be wrapping up their day, vendors closing last minute bargains as they pack up their stalls. A movement in the trees to his left catches his attention and, when he sees who it is, catches his breath.

Her hair is long and golden, a girlish braid that falls over one shoulder. She looks to be about sixteen years, the same as the boy with his soldiers. She's small in stature, still growing into her womanhood. Her face—her face is a replica of his wife's, but the smile she has right now, the one directed at the boy and the soldiers, is entirely _his_. He can feel something tighten in his chest. His eyes dart back to the boy, only remembering black hair, nothing more to go on for a babe he'd barely noted. But now, in looking closer, he can see remnants of what he remembers from that rough seaman, John, in the blue gaze and the way he holds himself.

David can't keep his eyes away from her though, he's so sure she's who he's been looking for and before he can actually control himself, he's stepped forward and said her name, "Emma."

Even if it isn't said loudly, it's still enough to bring those around him to a standstill. His men know who they've been looking for, they've watched their lord and commander take disappointment after disappointment in not being able to find his daughter. Their eyes cut to the girl who's suddenly paused, just shy of meeting the group. The boy immediately moves to her side, taking her hand and pulling her behind him. While he doesn't understand what may be happening, he's willing to do what he needs to protect her.

Her eyes are large as she stares at him unblinkingly. David stops himself, just barely, from moving closer to her, hand outstretched to touch her or show her he's unarmed, he's not sure, he just wants to make her stay. He doesn't know if he's seeing what is truly there, or what he's hoping for. But she recognized her name.

The girl puts a gentle hand on the boy's arm, moving him slightly away from her view. "Who are you?"

David takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he must look strange to her, reacting as he is to her face, a stranger, a noble, a man at that. "I'm Lord David of the North Forest, and I've been looking for my daughter, lost to me many years ago. Her name was Emma."

The girl stumbles back in surprise, her green eyes widening even more. The boy catches her arm and sends him an icy glare.

Now that he's started though, he isn't able to stop. "It was a little over sixteen years past. There was another baby with my daughter, a black-haired boy."

It's the boy's turn to stare at him with wide eyes. "Are you just saying this to make us feel safe with you?" The boy is quick to accuse.

David shakes his head, one hand digging into the pocket at his breast as he pulls out a rendering of his lady wife. "No, the woman who saved you from a witch said she left you both with a widow. A widow by the name of Ruth."

By this time, the two had stopped backing away from him and he was able to finish unfolding the picture in his hand, showing them the likeness within. Emma, for she cannot be anyone other than his daughter, gasps as she sees how alike her face is to that of the lady. The boy's shoulders relax, accepting the truth as it faced him. "This is my wife…your mother, Emma."

Her eyes are bright, as she looks up at him, mouth trembling. "Father?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

His own eyes have tears and he doesn't care that this is before all his men. He's found her, his daughter! "Yes!" he answers, arms opening wide as she takes the last steps to meet his embrace. She's alive and she's here and he thanks whatever greater power there is that led him to this moment.

Long moments pass while father and daughter reunite in tears and in joy before David pulls away to see the boy hanging back, looking like he feels out of place. "What is your name?" he asks.

"Killian," the boy diffidently answers.

"Well, Killian and Emma, I think I should take you back home."


End file.
